narrowed, then she sat back and regarded him for a moment. Her hair was different today, as if she had come out in a hurry and it hung loosely around her face. She didn’t look any the worse for it, in fact the opposite. Makana stirred his coffee. Outside in the arcade an old man was sweeping, moving along the cracked tiles with a broom over which a dirty rag had been draped. It slid back and forth like a strange undersea creature swimming through muddy water.
‘At first I thought it was some sort of cruel practical joke. I was ashamed, to tell the truth, and felt I should keep it secret. I didn’t tell anyone.’ Her fingernails tapped at the warped Formica at the edge of the table.
‘And now you’ve changed your mind?’
‘One letter might be a joke, but three? Somebody is trying to tell me something.’
‘And you haven’t talked about this to anyone?’
‘Not until now, no.’
Makana noticed the boy behind the counter lifting his head. The eyes widened enough to take a long look at Meera.
‘If someone does really mean you harm, perhaps you should consider varying your habits. How you travel, what time you come to work, that kind of thing.’
‘Ridwan and I have grown used to threats over the years. A few years ago someone tried to stab him in the street. The dangerous ones are the ones who give no warning. Now, have you thought about my invitation?’
‘Of course, I would be delighted to meet your husband.’
‘Then that’s settled. How about Sunday evening?’
‘Fine.’
As she was getting to her feet the boy came round from behind the counter. He was clutching a wet rag in his hands and stood there looking at her until she noticed.
‘Madame,’ he said. Meera turned and smiled.
‘Eissa? Is that you? What are you doing here?’
‘Oh, it’s just for a week or two, to help out for a friend.’
‘Eissa used to be one of my students, didn’t you? I used to teach him English.’
‘At the university?’ asked Makana.
‘No,’ laughed Meera. ‘And now you’ve found work here?’
The boy nodded his head, embarrassed in some way. Meera seemed to have a certain effect on men of any age, it seemed.
‘So I expect we’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the next few weeks.’
‘I’d like that,’ said the boy. He followed her to the door and watched her walk away. When he returned to the counter his head was bowed.
‘Can you get me some cigarettes?’ Makana called.
‘Sure,’ the boy nodded without looking up. ‘What kind?’
‘Cleopatra.’
As the boy disappeared through a back door, Makana noticed a pair of battered boxing gloves hanging from a nail hammered into the wall. He opened up the envelope Meera had given him. It was similar to the others. The typeset, the faint splatters of ink around some of the letters. An old-fashioned printing press. The paper was also the same cheap quality, roughly torn off at the ends, as if cut from a roll. Uneven and full of imperfections. The envelope was of the same poor quality, the edges coming unstuck. There was no address other than the words ‘Blue Ibis’. As for the text, Makana was fairly certain that it came from the same source:
Give no heed, then, to those who ignore Our warning and seek only the life of this world. This is the sum of their knowledge. You Lord best knows who have strayed from His path, and who are rightly guided.
‘Poetry for the lady?’
Makana looked up to see the boy leaning over his shoulder.
‘I couldn’t write poetry even if I wanted to.’ He took the cigarettes and tore open the packet. ‘So, tell me where you know her from. Where did you have these lessons?’
‘Oh, she used to come to the church school and teach us.’
‘You’re a Christian?’
‘Me? No way,’ said the boy quickly. ‘No, they have a gym and everything. They even give you food.’
‘Sounds wonderful. How much are the cigarettes?’
‘Half price. I can get you a whole carton if you like.’
‘Where do you get cigarettes that cheaply?’
Eissa shrugged. A shout came from the door. The bawab, Abu Salem, the building’s porter, stood there clutching the arm of a scrawny boy of about ten. ‘This one says he’s with you.’
‘And what of it?’ retorted Eissa, back to his usual self. ‘He helps in the kitchen.’
‘The kitchen? This one still has mother’s milk on his face!’
Eissa put his arm around the younger boy’s shoulder and led him through behind the counter.
‘I don’t know what